It has been 264 days since my mother took her last breath beside me. It's been 264 days since I have been able to look at her, touch her, talk to her, smell her, and hold her hand.
My mom's last journey was much like that of my dad's. Only hers was about 20 years too soon. Mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung c (I refer to it as this because I refuse to say the word or acknowledge its existence) in April 2021. Not even a year later, she was gone.
The last 9 months have been nothing short of terrifying and just HARD. As most that know me understand, my mom and I had an exceptionally close relationship. Both Realtors, we often worked together through the years and where you would see one, the other was not far behind; maybe even dressed in the same outfit, unplanned of course. At home, well, until my dad died, it was pretty much the same. She was always my favorite place to be. Anywhere she was. Living without her is surreal and not something I was prepared to do 9 months ago or 20 years from now.
Around the time that dad first got diagnosed with Dementia around 2010, I saw a change start in my mom. She was always in "go" mode. Never even slowed down. To others she was happy and always bringing sunshine, but to me, I knew what was inside. She couldn't stop or she would FEEL. She wasn't about to do that. She was hasty, she got uncomfortable sitting still, and she was sad. Very, very sad and lonely. It was so palpable. I wanted to take it all away. To watch my Pollyanna mama change so much from the mama I had growing up was a most humbling experience. It illustrated just how intensely we love our partners and how the memories we build with them are permanently etched in our hearts and our brains, until the end of time. I could look across the room at my mom no matter where we were or what we were doing and still see sadness, even when she was laughing. She confided in me, yes, but she also tried to "save" me. I guess as a mother myself, I can see the reason for her efforts. We don't like to show our weaknesses, and we want our children to know we are forever ok. After she died, I found mom's journal. It was a glimpse into the life that she lived once her partner had gone on and she wrote that she often wondered what the point of her existence was without him. She had the heaviest of hearts and I wish I could've fixed it. I've spent my entire life marveling at her and my dads relationship. They were magnets. Their energy, especially together, was unmatched. I never knew this existed elsewhere until I married Justin. Becoming one with someone is rare and you are never the same. My dad's death changed my mom's whole being.
I remember the day. April 26 2021. A text from mom "we are on our way to you" after her long awaited doctor appointment. She came and sat on a bar stool at my kitchen counter and said matter-of-factly "Welp! It's stage 4 lung c and I'm going to fight like Hell." It's strange to say out loud that my intuition whispered to me quietly "No she won't. Prepare yourself." I had no idea what that meant at the time, but I sobbed uncontrollably. Drew said she had never heard sounds like that come from me. Now I don't mean that she didn't want to fight at first, but fear took over and she had a lot of people in her ear giving her all the wrong information. Information she would've never listened to when I was growing up. For my whole life, she has taught me to be natural and always ask questions. I don't take medications, not even Tylenol, I breastfed my babies, we don't vaccinate, we don't say the word "sick" when we don't feel good. Who do you think taught me this way of life and thinking? Mom took me to my first chiropractor when I was 9. And to this day, we only see chiropractors and load up on supplements, sunshine, and fresh air. For fevers we do Calcium Lactate and skin to skin. Yea that kind of natural, I mean 100% natural ... I wouldn't touch chemo with someone else's 10 foot pole. My MOTHER taught me that. Her best friend was as natural as they come .. it's just how I was raised. She even taught me how to manifest positivity at the age of 7. She was WAY ahead of her time. After we found out what she was battling, I begged her to seek natural treatment. Well of course she would do that, right? It's what she taught me. We got her RSO, I took her to Dr Gill and got her huge amounts of supplements and hope, and I made acupuncture and chiropractor appointments. This was a good start, now let's drastically change your diet. Nope. She wouldn't change a thing. I was so angry.
Not only do I disagree with destroying your WHOLE body, bad AND good cells, but I knew she couldn't handle the effects of chemo. Mom was strong yes, but was never a good patient. I remember times when the stomach flu had her begging for God's mercy and the woman wasn't even Religious. She was simply NOT a good under the weather person. After doing exhausting amounts of research on this newly and hastily concocted controversial jab and my husband getting calls at his work about its effects daily, I begged her not to get that either. On repeat .... "HEALING and WELLNESS do not come from toxic chemicals. Ever." Ultimately, these two things no doubt stole my mom from myself, my husband, and my girls way too soon. Not looking for anyone else's opinion, I think what I think. I know what I know.
So imagine my surprise when she decided to go away from us for 4 long months. Imagine my surprise when I didn't talk to her for weeks at a time and other people were answering my texts to her. Imagine my surprise when she decided to go a completely different route than she taught me. Ok fine, her journey. But I knew it was over. I just absolutely knew. And honestly, since we lost my dad, I'm convinced her will to live was diminished, confirmed even more when I read her journal.
Mom came home from being out of town the end of October 2021. Drew couldn't handle her excitement. After all, she had never been away from her for longer than a week's time. She went into the airport to walk her out while I waited in the car. When I finally saw mom and hugged her tiny little body, it was the hardest I'd cried since my dad died. I couldn't catch my breath. What the HELL would I do when these hugs were gone? My sweet mama. Over the next couple months, we tried to laugh a lot and we chatted for hours at a time about anything and everything besides c. She went to acupuncture, she went back to Dr Gill and this time she was ready to do what he told her to do. I know him well enough to know what his eyes said .... no actual hope, it was too late. But he wanted her to experience life without haze in her last weeks/months. "Go out with dignity" as he would tell her straight to her face. Have you ever witnessed a trusted doctor cry with and hug your ailing mom? It's quite a thing to see. She took her supplements faithfully. She didn't want to do chemo anymore, but she did it one more time, praying for a miracle that we both knew wouldn't come. I kept repeating to her "HEALING and WELLNESS do not come from toxic chemicals. Ever." She was tired.
Mid December, mom and I went Christmas shopping at Barnes & Noble, alone. She was in good spirits and thoughtfully picked out stocking stuffers for the girls. We got Starbucks, her a Cinnamon Dolce Latte with an extra pump of cinnamon, me a Caramel Macchiato. I can hear her ordering. We drove separately and on the way out, she asked me to stop at her car. I sat down next to her and as always, I could see it in her eyes. She took my hands and told me the cancer had spread to her liver and to her bones. I didn't cry and neither did she. She said she wasn't afraid. We lost my brother in law Mark at the beginning of December. That was devastating. And since they both had c, I knew she was pondering her own mortality. I remember making a mental note of the winter hat she was wearing and the gloves sitting on her lap, her eyes and the blond hairs peeking out from under her furry brim. Her pink heart keychain from Sami hanging from the ignition. I felt it in my bones that this would be the last time I was a passenger in her car. What an odd thought. I hugged her, said see you soon, and shut the door. The cold air hit me like a freight train; I remember it taking my breath away. Or maybe it was the news I just heard. Either way, I got in my car 3 spots away from mom's as she drove away. The second her brake lights were out of sight, I let loose. I cried like a baby. Hysterically. I think I screamed obscenities, I'm sure of it. And I felt like I was in a tunnel. A really long, dark tunnel. Unbeknownst to me, there were two ladies facing me in their car staring at me out of their windshield. They got out, knocked on my window and asked me if I needed a hug. Talk about divine intervention. It was unexpected and just freakin BIZARRE. But I took the hug because I needed it. I really, really needed it.
Over the next couple weeks, mom's blank stares became more frequent as I believe she was preparing herself. We spent Christmas together at our house. She ended up sleeping half the day in Drew's bed and we drove her home in her own car. She needed one more Holiday, one more family gathering. So she got that, and from then on, it was her way.
We had schedules of when one of us would spend the night, we had endless medications lined up, a notebook of random questions we thought to ask and times she may have eaten, who gave what meds, meals delivered, doctors appointments, puzzles on the table. Eerily reminiscent of October 2015. How could this even be? Disbelief plagued my every thought along with the pull of "I can't handle this" and the push of "I WILL do this." The girls drew her brightly colored pictures and we listened to ocean waves on YouTube, Enya, and watched Steel Magnolias.
Near the end of January, my mom and I were sitting on her couch, the sun reflecting on the water outside, dancing on her rug and the tick of a nearby clock. Was that always that loud? It was warm and it was quiet. She was draped in her gray knitted blanket that Lori got her. She told me she wanted me to call in Hospice. She told me she was done. Her piercing blue eyes told me she was done. She told me she wasn't afraid. But I was. I was frozen and I felt like a 6 year old, helpless child. I swallowed. My first question to her (selfishly) was "Mom, how am I going to live without your voice?" Because you see, her voice has always been my safe place. She reached over and patted my leg, didn't skip a beat, and said "Do you really think you'll ever actually live without my voice?" Then she gave me a demand ... that I better keep the plant alive from my dad's funeral we were staring at or they would both haunt me. We chuckled because I have even killed a cactus. Green thumb, not so much. Seriously. But to this day, that damn plant is still alive and kickin. And she was right, I hear her voice every single day.
I called Lori over and she helped me call Hospice. They came that afternoon.
The next few days were filled with mom giving me instructions of what to do, step by step. She wanted her car sold and the check deposited, she wanted her credit cards paid off, she wanted her will written and notarized. She went through her jewelry box with Drew and Alex and she taught me how to open her finicky safe. She told me where random things from long ago were hidden and we had really hearty laughs about some of the things I found. I remember walking into her closet and panicking because the smell of her has always been one of the most comforting things to me since childhood. How would I remember it? Drew and I would stand there with a bunch of her shirts hanging in our faces with our eyes closed, just breathing them in. Then we would either laugh at ourselves or cry, but either way, unforgettable moments trying to hold onto what we knew was slipping away. Giki, Mama, it was an overwhelming feeling that's hard to describe.
Mid January to February is a blur of Eileen and I switching nights to spend with her, coordinating schedules, friends and family visiting, an unforgettable conversation between my mom and Chris and Andrew. They both sat with her and told her what she meant to them. That they were better for knowing her. She brought joy to their household when there was none so many years ago. They laughed together. And they cried. Hard. I realized I had never seen my brothers cry besides at my dad's funeral. It was genuine. They loved her very much and they were hurting. There was mindless chatter, the coffee pot in constant use, Hospice coming in and taking vitals and giving us instructions and supplies. Laughter. Memories. Tears. Morphine vials. Tears. And recording in the notebook. The fucking notebook. Don't forget to write in the notebook. After awhile I could only hear Charlie Brown's teacher. Blah fuckin blah. I mistakenly asked Hospice about a timeline. Why did I even do that? Looking back they were dead on. How do they even do that? I remember it from October 2015. I remember it ALL. Now it was going through those oh so familiar pamphlets, celebrating when she took a bite of yogurt, helping her to the bathroom, begging her to come into the family room to do a puzzle. The worst moments of those couple weeks were when she couldn't breathe in the middle of the night, me waking in a panic, talking to her and helping her calm down. Hiding my tears as she laid her head against my chest, holding my hands, counting slowly as I rubbed her back and brushed her hair from her tired face. Helping her tiny body into the shower and making sure it was fast so she didn't get cold. My 12 year old helped me give her Giki a shower after she wet herself. It was the proudest I've ever been of her. I was awe struck watching the kid who drops dishes unloading the dishwasher and who leaves socks everywhere she goes, focus and get a really important job done because it was her favorite person in all the land. Later on she would help fix her pillows and try to get her to eat. When I would break, Drew would say "I know mama, we're helping her, we have to do this." TWELVE. She was TWELVE. The night before she died, my sweet husband stayed with me at her house, and thought of wetting mom's toothbrush so we could get the Morphine down without her choking. His gentle nature with her made me burst. I remember him breaking down and bawling at her bedside. My God that was the hardest I've ever seen him cry. "Please don't fail me now, darling, we can't both be blubbering fools right now." Then we broke into laughter as we tried to move her with the sheets like Hospice taught us and she opened her eyes for the first time in days just to shoot us a dirty look! What a whirlwind. A beautiful, gut wrenching, painful, familiar whirlwind. Seriously what the fuck is happening right now and why have I done this twice in less than 7 years. Absurd.
Mom decided to go be with dad on February 16, 2022 at 2:46pm after Eileen held the phone to her ear and brother Mike told her it was ok and we'd be ok. Drew and I were laying with her in her bed. We held her hands, stared at her, and told her again we would be ok. I didn't know if that part was true, but I guess she needed to hear it. Or so they say. Drew looked at me and said "Did I just watch my Giki take her last breath?" Yes, honey, you did. It was equal parts fascinating, despairing, empty, and beautiful. I remember thinking to myself and trying to grasp that it was the last time I would be next to my mom's physical body. 9 months later, I still can't grasp it. I miss her so much that sometimes it's hard to breathe. What an unimaginable loss.
Imagine losing half of your family along with your mother because of the confusion that comes along with loss and the fact of having different beliefs. It's been quite a shocking, but eye opening ordeal, that is for sure. Mom gave me so many tools that I didn't even realize I had. My parents taught me well. Yes, I have them and they are in full effect. The last 9 months have taught me that death does strange things to people and to relationships. Meaningless issues about money, things, grudges and rumors that people start because of their own grief, maybe? I'm not sure and to be honest, I couldn't care less. People thinking that things are their business when they're not. True colors shine bright. Being my mom's only biological child has put a lot of responsibility on my shoulders that I'm still dealing with but thanks to my mom, my husband, and the girls, I've got this. I know I'm doing exactly what she wants me to do. She was so proud of my little family. Our upcoming adventures will surely have her written all over them and she will, without a doubt, guide me for the rest of my days.
I know our lifetimes are a mere second in the unfathomable picture of time. We are just glimpses. My hope is that one day I will see my mom and dad again. I believe they found each other because that kind of love and connection can't possibly just end. That gives me peace. For now though, I am just trying to navigate (and stumble) through life and my losses with (mostly) grace.
And I know that I will be ok.
Even without my umbrella.
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